


Just for a Moment

by MyckiMor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiMor/pseuds/MyckiMor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean glanced around the room, over the sea of empty bottles, dirty clothes, and crumpled pieces of paper. Hell, how had things got this bad?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just for a Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 'Supernatural'. I am just not that clever, sadly enough. This story is for fan enjoyment only. No infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Notes/Credits: This was inspired by 'Miles Away' by Winger (s'where the title came from, too). It's a ballad, but it is definitely filed under 'Suggested Listening' for this piece. ;).

Dean was tired. He'd gone off, carried on, screamed himself hoarse. Cried Cas' name to ceiling and sky, then, later, drunkenly sobbed it into his pillow. But, it seemed that no amount of begging, pleading, or outright threatening was going to help his plight. Cas was gone, and he was just going to have to accept that.

Sam hadn't left him alone in days, dialing his phone seven or eight times an hour. He ignored every one. If it was dire, Sam would find him. That wasn't to say that he was in any shape to help, but Sammy would come and find him, all the same.

After five days, and no little brother, Dean considered turning his phone off. But, he was enjoying the almost-silence of the otherwise-empty hotel room. He'd gone on a three-day bender (or, was it four?) with a couple of his closest friends, Jack and Jim, the only two who never let him down. Who didn't abandon him. Seated on the floor, back to the wall, Dean let loose a self-deprecating scoff. How fucking sad. Stupid fucking angels.

He hadn't eaten since Thursday, and he was pretty sure it was headed for Tuesday. Hadn't shaved since he'd tried – and failed – to get laid on Saturday, and Heaven only knew when he'd last taken a step toward the shower. Thunking his head back against the wall, Dean glanced around the room, over the sea of empty bottles, dirty clothes, and crumpled pieces of paper. Fuck, how had things got this bad? Spending drunken nights writing angry, hurt, love-fueled letters to someone who not only would never read them, but who wouldn't give two shits even if he did. Heat once again began to fill Dean's eyes. _Fuck,_ he was so fucking _fucked._

" _Cas,_ " he moaned, pitifully, tipping his head further back and closing his eyes. " _Fuck, Cas..._ I wish you'd just fucking _listen_ to me..." His breath hitched, and tears began jumping the fence, clinging to his eyelashes before slipping down the sides of his face. Fucking pathetic. " _Cas, I'm so sorry_... Whatever I did, I didn't mean it... I wouldn't do anything that would cost me _you,_ you _know_ that..." He winced. "Not intentionally... But, please, Castiel, I'm beggin' ya'... I'm a fuckin' mess, and I'm not worth it, but, _please..._ " A hiccup. A sob. " _I miss you so fucking_ much. If you'd just-"

Dean jerked his head up, eyes glaring murderously toward the bed. Growling to himself as he reached over, Dean snatched up his ringing cell phone. "Not now, Sam," he sighed. "I'm sorry." And, with that, he chucked the phone across the room. It hit the wall opposite him, leaving only a small dent before bouncing down onto the carpet. Fuck, pathetic, indeed.

Taking a pull off his bottle, the sad sight on the floor tried to steady out his breathing. What the hell was he doing, anyway? Ruining himself, like this? If Cas didn't want him, then, fine. Fuck him, his loss. If Cas didn't... _love him_... _Fuck._ The thought sent his heart careening over the cliff it had been teetering on since the angel left. He was gone. Dean had pushed him away. Or, he was dead. Still his fault, in the end. He'd let him close, he'd let him in, he'd come to _care about_ the stupid bastard, and now he was all alone-CRASH. The bottle between his knees joined the cell phone, flung across the room and dripping down the wall. Staining the carpet.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Great, the owners of this dump had probably heard that. Dean closed his eyes and sighed, thoroughly irritated. He only had himself to blame, but, why couldn't people understand that a guy needed some time to just completely flip the fuck out, every once in a while?! Whatever happened to a little bit of simple understanding?

Dragging himself to his feet, Dean staggered toward the door. That fucking cell phone went off, again. " I said, not now, Sammy!" he barked, gripping the doorknob and swinging the door open. "Yeah? What the fuck d'you-" His mind stalled.

"Dean." Castiel looked up at him, Sam's cell phone pressed against his ear. He closed the device, the ringing across the room finally ceasing to a halt. "I've been trying to reach you."


End file.
